


You Are an IED and I am My Mother's Son

by MidKnight2501



Series: Fall Behind Left Behind [4]
Category: James Bond - Fandom, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 00:33:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidKnight2501/pseuds/MidKnight2501
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He tries to picture the curves of Severine's body, the way it had fit in his hands.</p><p>~~</p><p>If it was 11:11 James would wish things never happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are an IED and I am My Mother's Son

James wakes up in the middle of the night- in their new hotel, in their new city, which is Berlin- to the sound of Severine getting off like a freight train. He has an awkward moment of thinking that he recognizes it from the boat, that they're even still on it before he recognizes the view out the window because he's been on the Plaz before. That he'd shot someone to death from a rooftop for MI6. It's a weird feeling to be having and he reminds himself he's only just barely awake. 

He rolls over onto his back and eyes the door, then thinks about things. Mostly he tries not to picture what might be going on next door. 

Trapped in here with Silva's goons and Silva himself and Severine who reminds him uncomfortably of Sphinx most days because she'll hardly speak to him (he's not sure if what he did wrong was fuck her or not kill Silva like he said he could) there's not much to think about and there's even less exercise to be had. 

From the sound of it the bed frame is hitting the wall and James really tries not to think about that, then thinks about it on purpose because it's not having the usual effect on his body. In fact since- since then he hasn't been interested in much of anything, not even thinking about it. 

He tries to picture the curves of Severine's body, the way it had fit in his hands. Her breasts in his hands, the way they pressed together and he's rubbed the callouses of his thumbs over her nipples, watching her shudder- and there's no reaction from below. James sighs and scrubs his hands over his face. M would let him alone if she knew this. She'd know he's in enough hell already. He reaches down and holds himself and tries to remember how he felt in the good old days- girls and girls and girls- and then sighs angrily because nothing is fucking happening and Severine is sobbing just a wall away, like she can't give a shit about him and all the navy sweater men and Silva having to hear it. 

Who is she even...? 

After a while he gets tired of holding his bollocks and Severine and her whoever finish what they're up to and James realizes he's not going to go to sleep any time soon and decides to get up and get something to drink. Maybe there's enough scotch or vodka in the place to put him to sleep and then he won't have to think about it anymore. 

He's not old enough for this to be happening, anyway. He doesn't care what all those whippersnapper agents back in MI6 had thought. They'd never had to kill anyone. They'd never had to put their hands in a sucking chest wound to save a life. 

He gets up and finds something to wear- the sweater goons had brought him a new wardrobe when they'd taken the phone away. He puts on running pants- not that they let him out to run- and a long sleeve shirt even though he's warm enough sleeping in his underwear. There's not going to be a repeat of how naked he felt when Silva had pushed him up against a door a week ago in Tokyo. 

He scrubs a hand over his face and opens the door into the hall- the other door opens at the same time- the guard in the hall is looking at both of them in a sort of amused way though his hands are still tight on his gun- and Severine steps out of Silva's room, still wearing the maroon robe from last week. She sees him, stops, shuts the door, then grips the neck of the robe tight at her throat. Her hair is a mess and her lips are puffy. 

James just stares at her. 

Severine stares back. 

The guard finally coughs, still amused, and Severine shoots down the hall like a startled deer and slams the door to her own room. 

James is still staring at Silva's shut door. 

It's like watching a perfect sniper shot go wide of the target. Nothing makes sense. He keeps staring at the door like it's going to do a magic trick. 

“I'm sure the boss could do two in a night if you're wanting.” The guard finally says with a snicker in a heavily South African accented voice and James straightens up, then stomps away towards the kitchen. The sweater man follows him, tread almost silent on the carpeted floor. Three of the other guards are watching a football match on the massive television but it hardly registers for James. Another one is hacking something on a Mac Book but the man looks at James in such a way he knows he's never going to be allowed near it.

Ten minutes later he somehow realizes that instead of getting into the alcohol he's put on the electric kettle and it's whistling and he's put everything on the counter for tea. He makes a mug of tea in a very mechanical fashion, then spends five minutes glaring into it's depths until its cool enough to sip at. 

Severine appears in the doorway suddenly. He looks up from the steam of his mug to find her standing there like she's been there the whole time. She looks surprised to see him and blushes a little. He gestures with the tea to the still steaming kettle. There's plenty enough for both of them, he supposes and flinches a little. 

She makes a mug herself and then stands there clutching at it and refusing to look at him. He wonders if she's embarrassed about earlier or if she still doesn't want to talk to him in general. 

“I thought-” James says and her eyes flick to him as quick as a whip crack. Even if she was just screwing her brains out an hour ago there's tension in her shoulders as deep as her bones now. 

“What?” Severine finally snaps at him, though she doesn't look as angry as her tone. She hikes a hip against the counter and James spends a moment studying her new bed attire- either it was colder than he felt or she'd put on as many clothes as he had to keep herself from feeling naked. He wondered how she'd stood it with Silva. Maybe they'd done it with the lights off. 

“I didn't think you'd-”

She rolls her eyes and says something he doesn't quite catch under her breath. It's probably something about his intelligence considering all the similar things he's ever heard women say about him under their breath while looking mad. Finally Severine looks back to him and makes a gesture with the tea, for him to finish. 

“With him.” He says and she blinks very slowly. There's half a second where he's pretty sure she's going to throw the scalding tea in his face but she doesn't do it. “From what you said.” 

Severine shrugs, just a little and looks down to study her toenails. Yesterday they'd been blood red, today they might be any color. When they left Tokyo they'd been a gray and blue glitter, the day after they'd been gold scales. “He's as bad as I said he was.” Severine finally says in a husky voice. She sounds mad and wistful and tired at the same time. Her dark eyes flick up and study his face for a long second while she sips at her tea, both hands clutching desperately at the mug- Severine is an excellent actress, a skill she picked up in childhood no doubt, but her hands are one of the few things she can't quite control James is realizing. “But he...” Her eyes slide to the side and she chews her lip slowly. There's a hickey showing at the edge of her collar bone, where the shirt has slid aside. “He wants very much to take care of people.” She laughs, but it's not a happy sound. “He should have pets.” 

James doesn't think Silva is really the kind of person the ASPCA would approve of. 

Her expression is darker when he looks up, though it's focused somewhere in her memory rather than in the room. “He has pets.” Severine corrects after a moment. She means her and him and that makes James bristle. He's not a pet. Or a boyfriend. He's not Silva's anything no matter what happened back on the island. 

Severine is smirking a little when he looks up and he figures all his distaste is showing on his face. 

“I'm not.” He complains and she shrugs a little, like it doesn't matter, or him saying it doesn't make it so. He's so mad right now he could-

Silva walks into the room and sucks all the air right out of it. 

He's wearing the maroon silk pants that match all the other things that James has seen and no shirt and as he crosses to the fridge he has a sweet smile for Severine and a wink for James. Then his back is to James and he's peering into the fridge and the man's back is a mess of nail marks and scratches- Severine blushes and ducks out of the room, leaving them alone, that coward- and under the new marks are a thousand old ones. 

James has his fair share of scars from his time in MI6 but it's nothing- absolutely nothing to compare with Silva. 

Silva turns around and grins at him, catching him watching. James blanches, but it's more because of the ruin of Silva's body than the half leer the man shoots him. 

“What happened?” James hears himself say and can't figure out where the words are coming from. He can't imagine why he cares. 

Silva looks down at himself, surprised like he's spilled something, then looks back up much slower. His expression is shuttered and a little sulky. “Some of it was part of my work.” Silva says, very offhandedly. “Most of it was five months in the hands of the Chinese.” 

Even James has to flinch at that. 

He flexes an arm, trying to show off a bicep like any guy at the gym. “It took a long time to... recover.” Silva says, sounding wistful. “Most of it is never going to come back, but I've done what I can. I used to be a very good looking man.” And he winks again, still flirting after what he did, after the scars, after Severine's fear-

James can taste bile in the back of his throat and leaves the room in a hurry. 

It's not running away. Just. Tactical retreat. Something.

He keeps telling himself that with the door to his room shut and locked and his back against it and his knees pulled up to his chest and his face buried in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this one to Cobra Starship's Professional and something else. I was working at a coffee shop and it's closing up and I had to shut down iTunes but I'll figure it out when I get home.
> 
> Also note the OPI's Skyfall collection shout out.


End file.
